McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. But it is my fault. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. There was hope for me then. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers.
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